Wrath
by rroselavy
Summary: It wasn't supposed to happen that way. Ukoku reflects on the devastating consequences of a game gone awry. First of Seven Deadly Sins.


**Wrath**

He'd heard that Kouryuu, now Genjo Sanzo, the thirty-first of China, had departed Chang'An the night following his master's demise. That detail gave Ukoku Sanzo small comfort as he stood in the bare, scrubbed rooms that had been the home of Koumyou Sanzo.

The faint antiseptic odor of the empty apartment was disconcerting - Koumyou's scent had been warm and inviting - a mix of cinnamon and sandalwood and tobacco, so opposite the sanitized one that now lingered in the still air. Ukoku's sandals scraped on the rough-hewn floorboards and he slipped his shoes off, not out of habit, but rather respect for his friend. Even in his death, Koumyou was the only man on earth who could bend the heretic's priest so effortlessly.

The last time he'd been here he and Koumyou had argued. Lately it had seemed they'd done as much arguing as making love, and now that he looked back on it, Ukoku could agree the argument had been a tiresome, repetitive, petty one. But then, he'd warned the older priest that he was a petty man. If Koumyou had heeded that warning, perhaps he would have understood the teeth behind it, and would be alive today. But then he would have had to sacrifice his sun, and Ukoku knew that was an unfathomable decision for the man who'd raised the boy as his own son.

"You'll be the death of me, you know." Even in his exasperation, Koumyou's elegant fingers had soothed through the silky fringe that framed Ukoku's sallow features.

"_He'll _be the death of you!" He'd hissed in retort.

"You seem so certain of that." The comforting motion stopped and Koumyou tilted his young lover's face to meet his calm gaze before his lips had brushed over Ukoku's; a chaste kiss to seal the argument, to set it behind them.

As Ukoku recalled that conversation, on the heels of their passion, their bodies still damp with sweat, he remembered that Koumyou's eyes had spoken volumes that last night, as if he'd already known, as if a part of him had already died.  
Ukoku shivered.

"Do you hate me now, Koumyou?" he whispered softly. In the white heat of his anger, he'd never imagined what his rash decision would set in motion, the bitter harvest he would reap. Koumyou was far too strong, far too clever to allow his Machiavellian plot to succeed!

Never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined this catastrophic outcome. Ukoku sat down heavily on the thin, bare futon that had served as Koumyou's bed. Tendrils of memories curled around him; closing his eyes, he could fool himself into believing that Koumyou was tucking Kouryuu in for the evening or perhaps on his way back to his apartment after counseling a troubled novice. His heart sped up in anticipation; his fingers bit into the mattress as he awaited his lover - ears straining to hear his quiet, even footfall -- at the ready to parry any number of esoteric observations Koumyou would cast at the raven upon acknowledging his presence. The coarse cover on the mattress ruined the daydream. Ukoku's lips formed a frown -- Koumyou's bed had always been covered in the finest silks. He wondered idly who'd absconded with them and, for that matter, all of Koumyou's other belongings now that his rightful heir had embarked upon his futile pursuit.

A crow called out in the fading evening light.

Koumyou had been right. He'd always acted before he gave a thought to the repercussions. No, that wasn't exactly true, but Ukoku had known then that the choreography of his last dance had required the cooperation of two. Pity Koumyou had chosen to sit that one out.

He didn't know what he'd expected to find when he'd come back to visit Keiun. Certainly not absolution -- even his lover's forgiveness would never fill the gaping chasm that his death had left. Ukoku wondered what it had been like for Koumyou in the last moments of his life. Had he faced the demons with the same unflappable serenity that he'd tread throughout his life? Had he even tried to fight back, to use his enormous strength to save himself as he saved Kouryuu?

Ukoku wasn't sure which scenario disturbed him more, the one in which Koumyou had refused to fight, or the one in which he'd overestimated his lover's power. A faint moonbeam fell across the floor and Ukoku's heart stuttered. Standing again, he gingerly stepped into the pale trapezoid, his dark robes absorbing the rays. That night the darkness had consumed the light, or so he'd thought. But rather than feel vindicated and victorious, Ukoku had felt hollow; the emptiness haunted him still. His gaze followed the light to its source - a full moon peeking above the pine treetops. Staring at the celestial body, Ukoku felt a calm descend upon him. As long as the moon was in the sky, he would never be truly alone.


End file.
